Hello, hello! This is my first fic ever. It'll loosely follow the plotlines of TDK, but it follows a story arc that isn't necessarily relevant to those plotlines. I love fics about the Joker because he's such a mysterious and captivating character. This Joker is obviously based off of Heath Ledger's portrayal. I wanted my OC to be an imperfect character with a good amount of darkness inside waiting to be unleashed, but with a moral code that prevents her from being actually evil- kind of like Catwoman in a way. This is because I can't imagine the Joker being with anyone who isn't his match, both in intelligence and darkness. It also is such a cliché to have a bad boy turned good by the right girl, so I wanted to do the opposite. Salomé, my OC, isn't anywhere near as depraved as the Joker is, but she has an animalistic, unfeeling streak that can result in her doing some horrible things. But she's torn between that darkness and her good side, and that's what this fic is really about. PS- her name is pronounced Sah-loh-meh. Not like salami, haha.

Please, read and review! I'm newbie on here so it would mean a lot to me. Enjoy :)

Warning: This fic contains explicit content including violence and sexual situations. If that offends you, get out while you can.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own OC's. Bruce Wayne/Batman and the Joker belong to DC Comics.

Chapter One

Salomé Rowe sat at her desk with her head resting on her hands, her fingers pressed gently into her eyelids. She had closed her office door as a message that she needed a moment of privacy, a moment to herself to think. Sometimes she missed smoking for that precise reason- it gave her that little break in the day where she could go off on her own and be in her head for 5 minutes. 5 minutes of peace, that belonged to her and no one else. Now that she had quit, she had to take those precious moments of solitude wherever she could find them.

Her office phone rang. Moving her fingertips away from her eyelids and looking at the caller ID, Salomé saw that it was her assistant. She took a deep breath and tapped the speakerphone button with a manicured index finger.

"Yeah?"

"Salomé, sorry to disturb you when you have your door closed, but your mom wants to see you in her office."

"Okay, thanks, Claudia. Tell her I'll be there in just a sec," she said, before hanging up. She sighed before standing up and approaching the mirror on the left-hand wall of her office to check her appearance. She ruffled her golden-brown hair a little and debated whether to put her blazer on over the blush-colored satin bra top she had paired with slim-fitting, high-waisted navy pants and thin-strapped stiletto sandals, which was admittedly a risqué ensemble for a meeting with the boss, even if the boss was her mother. But then again, this wasn't your typical office- it was the headquarters of the Jeanne Rowe fashion house, one of the hottest fashion labels in the world.

In the end she decided to drape the navy blazer over her shoulders. She grabbed her phone and a notepad, heading out the door and down the hall.

She knocked twice on the doorframe of her mother's rather vast office before entering.

"Shut the door," her mother said in her slight French accent, glancing up at her over the glasses perched on her nose. Jeanne Rowe was a small but imposing woman, with her perfectly quaffed head, immaculate outfits, and commanding attitude. She was gracious and chic and wily as hell- everything the head of a multi-million dollar fashion brand ought to be. She sat behind her large, mahogany desk in a long-sleeve black dress, with her dark bob tucked behind her ears and her Louboutin-clad feet just visible under the desk. Salomé did as she was told and sat in one of the chairs opposite her mother, who was tapping away at her keyboard. She crossed one leg over the other and stared out of the floor-to-ceiling window behind her mother, overlooking Gotham City as she waited for her mother to speak. She felt herself relax into the soft leather of the chair. She loved her mother's office, with its dimpled brown leather sofa, marble coffee table, and the beautiful Persian rugs laid across the hardwood floor.

Jeanne finally removed her glasses and looked at her.

"So, darling, I just wanted to make sure you haven't forgotten about Bruce Wayne's party this evening."

Salomé rolled her eyes. "No, mom, I haven't forgotten," she said, adding in a mumble, "no matter how much I'd like to."

Her mother looked at her pointedly. "Salomé, I will never understand your attitude towards these types of functions. They come with the territory of being part of the Gotham social scene and you'll have to learn to like them, or at least bear them gracefully, if you want to be successful when you take over this fashion house."

"Mom, I hate them. I hate having to make small talk with people I don't even care about, who definitely don't care about me either. I hate dealing with all the bitchy socialites who look down on me because I'm clearly not as good at schmoozing as they are. Everyone knows I don't fit in there, and that's another thing I hate. The way people look at me like I'm some kind of wild child just because I'm not talented at being fake and awful." She took a deep breath after her rant.

Her mother sighed and angled her head downward, peering at her. "Trésor," she began, using the French pet name only reserved for her daughter, "regardless of whether you're good at schmoozing or not, you do fit in there. You were born into this world and raised with grace and manners, and I've seen you use them to great effect in the past. Now, stop whining. You should be happy to be invited to a party hosted by Bruce Wayne. Any girl your age would kill for that invite. And he's single, you know. He's such a handsome young guy. He could be a good match for you." She grinned.

Salomé shuddered in disgust. "Mom. Stop. He's vile. I don't care if he's the richest, most handsome guy on the planet. He is literally the embodiment of everything I hate about our class, and actually, humanity in general. He's a self-absorbed airhead who doesn't care about anything real. I'll go to his dumb party to make you happy and because I know it's expected of me. And I'll be gracious for those same reasons. But do not push me towards Bruce Wayne, mother. It's not gonna happen."

Jeanne stared at her daughter with an exasperated sigh before changing the subject. "Have you picked out what you're going to wear?"

"No. Doing that would've been solid confirmation that I'm actually going."

"I thought as much, so I took the liberty of asking that assistant of yours to pick out some suitable options for you." She hit the speakerphone button on her office phone and tapped in Claudia's extension.

"Yes, Mrs. Rowe?"

"Darling, would you be so kind as to bring those dress options for Salomé into my office? Thanks." She hung up without waiting for a reply.

Not a moment later, Claudia bustled into the office with several garment bags from various designers and shopping bags with matching accessories. She removed the dresses from their garment bags and hung them on the brass clothing rack against the wall of the office, usually used for Jeanne's own designs. Claudia laid the corresponding accessories out on the coffee table before taking her leave.

Salome's eyes moved over the clothing rack, landing on a red ensemble with striking matching accessories.

"I'll wear the Dolce & Gabbana. If I'm going to be forced to spend a whole evening with people who make me feel like shit, I might as well make sure I'm the best-dressed person there."

Salomé stepped out onto the sidewalk behind her parents and adjusted the black faux-fur jacket she had donned over her dress. She had ridden with them in their limousine at her mother's insistence, which she assumed was to prevent her from being able to leave before her parents did. Little did they know that she had secretly asked her own driver, Edwin, to come and wait outside an hour after they arrived in case she needed a quick escape. She was paying him time-and-a-half for that, of course.

She wore a beautiful red Dolce & Gabbana mini dress with a round neck, three-quarter sleeves, and a fit-and-flare shape. It had red lace panels on the sleeves and from the bodice to the skirt. With it she wore the matching long gold necklace with a large cross pendant on it, large gold cross earrings that reached all the way to her shoulders, and a beautiful jewel-embellished gold crown over her golden-brown locks, which were swept back into an easy, romantic-looking low bun.

The ensemble was part of Dolce & Gabbana's new byzantine-inspired collection, which was reminiscent of the costumes that cardinals and popes wore at that time and drew from byzantine Catholic iconography. Collections like this one were what really reminded Salomé of what she loved about fashion- true, artistic fashion design that drew from history in a meaningful way to create something stunning without trying too hard. She had done her makeup simply- just dark red lipstick, a little blush, and some magical lengthening mascara to accentuate her long lashes and bring out her brown eyes. She took a deep breath as they rode the elevator all the way up to Bruce Wayne's penthouse. She caught her father's eye in the reflective surface of the elevator doors. He smiled encouragingly.

"Don't take it too seriously, kiddo," he chuckled. "It's only a party, after all." Salomé knew her father didn't like these functions any more than she did, but he was better at taking it in stride than she was. Charles Rowe was one of the most well known judges in Gotham, and not just for his reputation of putting Gotham's criminals behind bars. It wasn't very common for a judge to marry a high-profile fashion executive. It was one of the things that gave their family a little edge, and one of the things that made some consider Charles and Jeanne Rowe to be Gotham's "power couple".

Salomé gave her reflection in the elevator doors one last encouraging look before they opened to Bruce Wayne's typically sleek single-man's bachelor pad, a open-plan space with modern furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. They handed their coats to the doorman in the foyer and her parents walked on arm-in-arm into the wide-open space where the guests were mingling. Salomé hung back for a moment, putting her gracious-socialite mask on, before stepping into the room with her head held high.

She noticed many eyes turning towards her as she moved through the room, smiling and greeting people as they recognized her. She grabbed a glass of champagne off of a passing tray as she glanced around, looking for her parents. She locked gazes with two familiar pairs of eyes, and audibly sighed with relief as she bounded across the room towards her two best friends, her black almond-toed stiletto pumps clicking against the marble floor.

"You didn't tell us you were coming to this," Martha half-squealed as she gave Salomé a hug. "You look so bangin' in that dress, by the way. And that crown!" She touched the golden crown reverently.

"Thanks, babygirl. I was trying to get out of coming, to be honest," Salomé said, smiling sheepishly as she hugged Chloe. "I'm so fucking happy to see you guys, you have no idea. I thought I was going to be thrown to the wolves all alone tonight."

"Did your mom force you to come?" Chloe asked, her big hazel eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Ugh, yeah. She's trying to hook me up with Bruce Wayne." Salomé made a mock gagging gesture.

"What's wrong with that? He's super hot, and he's, like, the most eligible bachelor in Gotham," Martha said.

Salomé took a big gulp of champagne and made a grossed-out face. "I don't know, he's just such an asshole. He's arguably the most powerful man in this city and what does he do with it? He just flaunts his wealth and fucks girls, and then does a well-placed charity fundraiser here and there to make it all look copacetic." She shook her head. "I mean, I'm not acting like I'm Mother Theresa over here, but at least I care. At least money isn't the most important thing in my whole life and I support the causes I'm really passionate about."

"Yeah, I guess you have a point. He's a little too extra for you. But I'd still hit that," Martha said, laughing.

"That's because you have no moral compass," Chloe said, sipping her Manhattan and rolling her eyes. Martha gave her the finger. Salomé flagged down a waiter and swapped out her empty champagne coupe for a full one, tossing back half of it in two long sips. She swiped the side of her mouth with a glossy burgundy fingernail without messing up her lipstick. She figured if she was being forced to endure this party, she might as well do it tipsy.

She was on her third glass of champagne when her mother appeared at her elbow. "Darling, can I borrow you a moment? Hi, girls." Chloe and Martha smiled and waved.

"Sure, mom," Salomé said, taking another big sip of champagne. She rolled her eyes behind her mother's back and waved to her friends. "Be right back."

Her mother began to lead her by the hand across the room. Salomé noticed that they were headed for the back of a familiar-looking tall, glossy dark head of hair that was talking to her father. As soon as she realized her mother was dragging her to talk to Bruce Wayne, she downed the remaining champagne in her glass and stopped to get a new one. Jeanne glared disapprovingly but kept walking.

"Bruce, you remember my daughter, Salomé," her mother said, gesturing for Salomé to step forward. Salomé forced a smile that she was sure didn't come across as completely genuine.

"How could I forget?" Bruce said smoothly. He held out his hand, and she reluctantly reached toward it. He grabbed her fingertips swiftly and leaned down to place a kiss on the back of her hand. She fought the urge to roll her eyes, because she knew this was just the kind of thing that would make her parents think he was such a gentleman!

"Bruce," she acknowledged, bowing her head slightly.

"You look absolutely stunning tonight, Salomé," Bruce said, "the boldest looking woman here, as usual." Salomé smiled tightly at the thinly veiled dig at her inability to fully fit in.

"Well, it's easy when I have such a great fashion team at my disposal," she said graciously, gesturing toward her mother, who smiled.

"Oh, Charles, there's the prima ballerina of the Russian ballet," Jeanne said. "Let's go say hello." Salomé couldn't help but shoot daggers at her mother's back for that less than slick exit from the conversation. She finished her fourth glass of champagne and flagged down a waiter for another. She noticed that she was feeling more drunk than tipsy at this point.

"So, how are things at the big fashion house? Busy, I'm guessing, with all the fashion weeks coming up? Looking forward to seeing you there, by the way. I've got reserved seats at all the shows," he said, smirking.

"Actually, I won't be going. That's more my mom's thing. I have important work to do here, and I honestly don't like all of the arrogance floating around at those shows," she said breezily. With all the champagne in her system, she was running out of nice and having trouble keeping her façade up. She glanced around for her parents, clinging to the shred of hope that they would come back and save her from this conversation.

"Right, I forgot that you're not as much of a social butterfly as your mother is. I hope she isn't planning on seeing the Russian ballet perform, by the way," he added, nodding his head towards her parents, who were in animated conversation with the prima ballerina. "I'm thinking of taking my boat to some remote little place and absconding with the whole company."

Salomé scoffed. "Of course you are." Another large gulp of champagne.

"What, are you not a fan of vacations, either?"

"No, actually," Salomé said, in a sickly sweet tone, "I'm just not a fan of you." She flashed him a shamelessly fake smile and walked off in the opposite direction, slamming her champagne glass down on a passing tray as she went. She was shocked at herself. She normally was able to keep it together at these types of parties and was not one to instigate a confrontation, but the champagne had really loosened her tongue and Bruce Wayne had pissed her off like only he could. She couldn't stand his smug attitude. She stormed into the foyer, got her coat and clutch from the doorman and then quickly slipped into the elevator before anyone could notice she'd gone. She walked briskly out on to the sidewalk, scanning the many waiting towncars and limos for her own, but they all looked the same. She pulled out her phone and called Edwin.

"Yes?" he answered on the first ring.

"Can you stick your hand out of the window and wave it around? I can't tell which car is ours," she said. A second went by before she saw a black-suited arm with a gloved hand reach up out of a driver's side window and wave. "Thanks," she said before hanging up and heading to the car. She opened the door and slid into the back seat. "Let's get out of here before my parents come after me, Edwin." He chuckled and put the car in drive.

She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes as they drove toward the other side of the Diamond District in the Friday night traffic. Only about 5 peaceful moments went by before Edwin's phone began to ring. He glanced at the caller ID and sighed before sliding his finger across the touchscreen and answering on speakerphone.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Edwin, I know you have my daughter in your car. Please turn around this instant and bring her back." Jeanne's angry voice sliced through the car, her French accent more pronounced than usual. Edwin looked at her in the rearview mirror.

"Ma'am, we've already made it quite far, and-"

"Edwin, if you do not turn around and bring my daughter back, I will give her enough of a pay cut that she won't be able to afford a driver anymore." Her voice was steely. Edwin glanced back at Salomé apologetically. She felt anger rise wildly inside her. She wasn't going back to that party. There was no way in hell.

"Yes, Mrs. Rowe. I'll turn around."

"Good." The call ended. Salomé acted. While they were stuck in trafficky area, she opened her door and jumped out, running into a side street. Edwin yelled after her, jumping out of the car himself to chase her. He was clearly fearing for his job, but Salomé would make sure he didn't get fired. She ran and ran, turning corner after corner until she was sure Edwin wasn't behind her anymore, but she kept running. It was exhilarating and the champagne was making her forget about her 5-inch heels and the fact that she was running into a sketchy neighborhood dressed in about $20,000 worth of clothing and jewels. She paused as she passed by a lone man walking and smoking a cigarette, who was openly staring at her with shock on his face.

"Hey, can I bum one of those?" she asked breathlessly. He stared at her for a second, but pulled the pack out of his pocket and gave her one. She clamped it between her teeth. "Got a light?" she asked. He wordlessly produced a lighter and lit the end of the cigarette for her. "Thanks," she said, flashing him a wide grin. She jogged off and ducked into the entrance of a nearby alleyway, leaning back against the wall and chuckling breathlessly. She took a deep drag of her cigarette and let her head fall back against the brick. Some of her hair had come out of her bun in her chase, and was hanging around her face. She grinned as she exhaled the smoke and took a deep breath, looking up at the smoggy night sky. She had actually escaped. She took a few moments to savor her victory and finish her cigarette. Then she would find a cab home. She wasn't aware of the two dark eyes watching her from the shadows.

So there you have it, Chapter 1. I hope you liked it! In the next chapter we meet the Joker. Bye for now :)